


Love Is In The Air (Please Make It Stop)

by parentaladvisorybullshitcontent



Category: Phandom/The Fantastic Foursome (YouTube RPF)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Coffee Shops & Cafés, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-09
Updated: 2016-07-25
Packaged: 2018-07-22 13:14:08
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 17,979
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7440571
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/parentaladvisorybullshitcontent/pseuds/parentaladvisorybullshitcontent
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“And then they cursed me.”</p><p>“They?”</p><p>“Cupid."</p><p>“Sorry,” Phil says, taken aback. “What?”</p><p>“I know, right?” Dan says, wryly.</p><p>In which Phil works in a coffee shop and Dan's a customer who may or may not have been cursed by Cupid. Either way, there are an awful lot of kissing couples around...</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I honestly don't know what this is. The idea came to me when I was stuck in traffic. Idk. Traffic is great (apparently)
> 
> You know the drill, I'm not 100% happy with this but I'm releasing it into the wild nonetheless. BE FREE MY CHILD
> 
> Big thanks to Eni for the title support <3 Also any mistakes are because I was editing this in a hurry, I'll sort them out asap (sorry)

Phil has no idea how he managed to get a job in a coffee shop.

He hadn’t been looking for a job. He hadn’t been looking for anything, really – well, maybe somewhere to waste a couple of hours to make him feel like he’d actually done something that day. Sitting around on the sofa feeling sorry for himself didn’t feel productive, but taking the bus into town to feel sorry for himself in a place that sold overpriced muffins was always a step up, somehow.

He’d been job hunting back then – of course he had. But the thing about job hunting was that it involved more fruitless waiting and rejection emails than Phil had ever thought it would. He found himself hopping from loan to loan off his parents, knowing that they didn’t mind but feeling awful about it anyway.

The reason he’d decided to buy coffee in this place – to slope through the front door, flattening down his hair and digging his wallet out of his pocket – was because it was raining and one glance at the Starbucks he normally went in was enough to tell him that he wouldn’t be able to sit in with his macchiato.

“I still can’t believe it was that easy,” PJ says sometimes, in the lulls between orders. “Like, _I_ had to go through this intense interview thing and you just waltzed in and-“

“And stopped you from drowning in angry customers,” Phil finishes for him, which is exactly what had happened.

Phil had waited in the short line and sat down to drink his coffee. He'd watched the line get bigger and bigger and the debris on tables piling up, and PJ getting more and more flustered, and he’d just got up and started tidying up. He’ll never know what possessed him – he remembers pausing nervously with a tray of plates and cups, hesitating on the threshold of going behind the counter, worrying about a rebuke.

PJ had just given him this harried, grateful look from over by the blender and said, “Those go over here, oh my God, thank you,” and that had been that.

He’s been working there ever since. The coffee shop’s owner – a permanently grouchy guy called Mr Davies – had hired Phil on the spot, not that he’d seemed happy about it (“But don’t worry, he’s always like that,” PJ had reassured him).

And that’s how Phil got a job in a coffee shop that he never really wanted.

-

Sometimes, Phil and PJ play a game during quiet days where they try and guess which of their customers are only there because the Starbucks down the street is too busy.

It started out as a joke, with one of them saying “Looks like there was a queue at Starbucks…” and the other one usually trying to hide a smile behind their hand. Over time the whole sentence has eroded a little, so now they just say _queue_ if they see a likely looking person.

“Queue,” PJ mutters, as a harried looking woman in a suit wanders in, mostly focused on her phone rather than her surroundings.

Phil moves forwards to serve her and watches her frowning at the menu for a long moment before ordering a small black coffee.

“Queue,” He agrees as he goes to make her drink.

“Told you,” PJ says, grinning, then going back over to serve someone else.

When Dan first walks into the coffee shop, Phil’s first thought is-

“Queue,” PJ hisses, before Phil can even get the word out.

“I was just about to – oh my God,” Phil says under his breath, laughing when PJ pulls a face at him. He’s still laughing a little when he goes over to serve the latest Queue person, and his smile fades a little when he sees the look of unadulterated weariness on the guy’s face. “Hey, what can I get you?”

“Erm,” The guy says, eyes trailing over the menu the way all their Queue customers do. He has nice hair, Phil thinks. Nice hair and nice hands. Phil wishes he could compliment him without sounding weird. “Er, God, I dunno. Er.”

“We do a nice cappuccino,” Phil says, helpfully. “I mean. Just as good as Starbucks. If, like. That’s your thing.”

“I’m just gonna kill it with a ton of sugar anyway,” The guy admits. Phil smiles, but he doesn’t. “Er. Yeah, sure, a cappuccino.”

“Coming up,” Phil says, cringing as he turns his back over how stupid he sounded.

“ _Coming up_ ,” PJ trills quietly in Phil’s ear, coming over to stand next to him unhelpfully while Phil wrestles with a new bottle of milk.

“Shut up,” Phil says, grinning without really meaning to. “That’s customer service. You should try it.”

“I will,” PJ says, going over to ring up the guy’s order on the till. “That’ll be two quid, thanks.”

Phil can tell without looking that PJ’s smiling his most charming smile – the one that makes most people come over all fluttery, whether PJ realises or not. Phil listens to the noise of the till opening and then finishes adding foam to the top of the guy’s drink and takes it over.

He still looks unhappy about something, though.

“Thanks,” He says, retreating to a table.

“Wow, miserable,” PJ says under his breath, the two of them watching him sit down across the room. “Should we keep our eye on him?”

“In case what?” Phil says. “He tries to drown himself in his coffee?”

PJ shrugs as if to say  _you never know_.

There’s a couple at the table next to the guy who’ve been gazing into each other’s eyes for the past hour, and they start kissing just as Miserable Guy’s pulling earphones out of his jacket pocket. Phil watches him spot the couple kissing and scowl, averting his gaze to his cappuccino like it’s the worst thing in the world.

Phil isn’t sure if PJ noticed until he says, “It’s probably a breakup. That’s like, classic breakup behaviour.”

“Maybe he’s just annoyed that Starbucks was busy,” PJ suggests.

“Mm,” PJ says, thoughtfully, and moves forwards to smile his charming smile at a new customer.

-

The Miserable Guy sits in the shop for a long time. He stays around during the sudden upsurge of the lunchtime rush and gets up to order another coffee during the lull (“If you want I can just bring over another if you want one after that. So you don’t have to get up, I mean,” Phil says, trying to encourage him to smile, even just a little. He says thanks but his expression stays the same).

Phil finds himself spending his day keeping half an eye on him (he spots PJ doing the same, the two of them sharing fleeting looks of _well he doesn’t look like he’s gonna jump off a bridge_ and _but he hasn’t stopped frowning in two hours_ ) and keeping an eye on the rest of their customers, who for some reason seem to overwhelmingly be people on dates.

“What’s going on?” PJ wonders, as yet another couple waltz in hand-in-hand, staring meaningfully into each other’s eyes.

Phil shrugs and goes over to serve them. He’s never been a _staring into someone’s eyes_ kind of guy, if he’s honest. He always feels too awkward, and then there’s the whole dilemma of where to actually look. Phil never knows whether to pick one eye and stick to it to avoid going cross-eyed or flick rapidly between both, which usually ends up ruining the moment.

He admits this to PJ in an undertone while he’s making someone an iced coffee.

“God, same,” PJ says. “My mind starts wandering, usually. And if it doesn’t then I end up saying something stupid or laughing.”

Phil’s glad it’s not just him – but judging by their sudden rush of overtly-romantic customers, it looks like they might be in a minority of two.

A minority of three, maybe, Phil thinks, when he’s collecting empty cups from a table near Miserable Guy’s and watches him trying and failing not to stare at the nearest doe-eyed couple, scowling a little.

“Hey,” Phil finds himself going over and saying, laden down with a tray full of unwashed cups and cutlery. It takes the guy a second to look up at Phil, but when he does he blinks like someone waking up. “Er. Did you want another drink?”

The guy’s about to open his mouth to answer when there’s a commotion of cries and a chorus of awws from across the shop. Startled, Phil turns around just in time to see a girl down on one knee, evidently proposing to her girlfriend, who’s flushing bright red and touching her hands to her face.

“Jesus Christ,” Miserable Guy says. Phil looks back at him briefly, but finds himself grinning and watching when the girl clearly accepts and there’s some clapping from the few customers they have in.

“Cupcakes on the house,” PJ calls from across the shop, not that the couple are paying him much attention right that second.

When Phil turns back to Miserable Guy, he feels his face fall a little at the look on his face.

“I’m first,” it sounds like he says, under his breath.

There’s a moment when Phil could just take his tray of washing up back behind the counter, but instead he says, “Sorry?”

Flushing a little, the guy says, “It doesn’t matter.”

“No, no, it’s ok,” Phil says. If he can get to the bottom of Miserable Guy’s…well, _misery_ , maybe he can help somehow. “What did you say? You’re first at what?”

“I’m _cursed_ ,” He says.

Bingo, Phil thinks. PJ was right - it has to be about a break up.

“I’m sure you’re not,” He says, as gently as possible. “Like – I know it seems like that sometimes, but-“

“No, no, I mean it, I’m cursed,” The guy insists. Phil stares at him, which was probably a bad idea, because he flushes and says, “I – sorry, I. I don’t mean to be, like, rude, I just. I don’t mean it like a metaphor or something, like, I got cursed, someone cursed me.”

Phil considers that for a minute, then sets his tray down on an empty table and takes the seat opposite Miserable Guy’s. His eyes widen a little, but he moves his phone back on the table, like he’s making room for Phil, somehow.

“Sorry,” Phil says, feeling suddenly awkward now he’s sitting there in his damp apron. “I just – what do you mean by cursed? Do you mean, like-“

“Literally,” The guy says. Then he hesitates. “I’ve never really told anyone about this before.”

Phil shrugs.

“Strangers are the best people to tell things,” He says. When the guy looks disbelieving, Phil adds, “Like – I can’t judge you because I don’t know you, and if you feel shitty about telling me you can just…never come here again.”

The guy blinks and actually smiles for the first time since he walked in.

“Good point,” He says. “Erm. Well. I’m cursed.”

“Yeah,” Phil says, trying to sound encouraging. “Oh – if I rush off by the way that’s not, like – it won’t be because I’m freaked out, it’s just – we get busy in here sometimes.”

“That’s ok,” The guy says. “I, er.” He breathes out in a way that rustles the napkin on the tabletop. “So about six months ago at a party I – I’d just broken up with my girlfriend, I should probably – that’s important, the girlfriend thing.”

“Ok,” Phil says, making a mental note to tell PJ that he was right.

“Yeah,” The guy says, scrubbing a hand through his hair absently and messing up his fringe. Phil can’t help but smile a little when he sees the second he realises and starts patting it back into place. “Er. Well, I broke up with my girlfriend and I went to this party and I just – it was a party where I didn’t know anyone, which – totally bad idea, like, I should’ve known that before I even decided to go, and – and I got really drunk.”

Phil inclines his head a little as if to say, _that's understandable_.

The guy nods.

“Yeah, so, anyway, I’m drunk and I’m, like, mouthing off about how love doesn’t exist and all of this stuff – like, I was _really_ drunk, I barely even remember half of what I said, but I know – I know I attracted some attention, like…I was probably yelling.” He shrugs, looking embarrassed, all hunched down in his seat like he wants to disappear into it. “And then they cursed me.”

“They?”

“Cupid,” The guy says, without stopping to think about it.

“Sorry,” Phil says, taken aback. “What?”

“I know, right?” The guy says, wryly. “Why d’you think I haven’t told anyone?”

Phil doesn’t know what to say for a second. Part of him is thinking that retreating back to the safety of the counter and PJ and their murmured conversations is the best way to go, but most of him is thinking that regardless of if it’s true, this guy obviously _believes_ what he just said. He _believes_ that he’s cursed, and it’s making him miserable.

“Ok,” Phil says, slowly. “So. Cupid cursed you. How do you – how do you know it was-?”

“The real deal?” The guy says. He shrugs. “I just – it’s hard to explain. They were just – well, they were really angry about the whole, me shit talking love thing. And, like, everyone else in the room got weirdly quiet, you know like when someone says something terrible and you know something big’s about to happen?”

Phil nods, hesitantly.

“Yeah. Anyway, so they start yelling at me, like, _don’t talk about love like that_ , blah blah blah, and their friends are all like, _hey hey, no, leave it, let it go_ -“ He snorts a little, looking at Phil’s face, and adds, “I know right? I thought it was all a fever dream the next day. So they yelled at me for a while and then they were like – it’s all hazy but this bit’s really clear, like – _if you’re so sure love’s so terrible then I condemn you to witness it always_.”

“Right,” Phil says, weakly.

“Yeah,” The guy says, like he understands how unlikely this all sounds. “So obviously I’m kind of like – like, I came out to have a good time, right, and then this stranger’s suddenly yelling at me. And then there was this weird, like, pink light? And lots of people were yelling by then, it was like being in a fight but without the fighting. And the pink light kind of,” He prods his chest. “It went in here and made me feel kind of warm? I dunno. Trust me, I know how this sounds.”

“No, no, it’s ok,” Phil says, automatically. When the guy gives him a pointed look, he adds, “Ok, it’s kind of weird.”

The guy snorts.

“ _Kind of_ ,” He says. “Oh God, I shouldn’t even be telling you this-“

“Hey, no, you’ve started now,” Phil says, spurred on by curiosity. “You can’t stop before the end.”

“There’s not much else to tell,” The guy says. At least his frown seems to have softened slightly – or maybe that’s just wishful thinking on Phil’s part. “Just – I woke up the next day and I thought it was all a dream but then…” He shrugs. “Well, you saw just then.”

Phil looks at him, and then looks over at the couple across the room, who are eating free cupcakes PJ probably gave them and holding hands across the table.

“What?” Phil says, faintly. He looks back at the guy, who’s just nodding. “What? So – no, that – that would’ve happened anyway-“

“Probably,” He says. “But maybe not in here. And – and all the people, like, holding hands and kissing stuff, that’s – that’s what it’s like, everywhere I go. All the time. Ever since.”

Phil thinks about that for a moment.

“Are you,” He needs to be tactful about this. “Are you sure it’s not just, like. I mean, you broke up with someone, so now you’re like…noticing people being together more?”

“I’m sure,” The guy says, sadly. “It’s – I dunno, it’s – I just know. Trust me.”

Phil opens his mouth to say something when PJ walks past and flicks him on the shoulder with a tea towel.

“A little help over here,” He calls, walking back over to the counter.

Phil rolls his eyes. When he looks back at the cursed guy, he just looks sort of…resigned. Something about his expression makes Phil stop for a moment before he gets up.

“I mean,” Phil says. “It’s not the worst curse there’s ever been. It’s not, like, a plague of locusts, or something. I know that's not helpful, but...”

“No, you're right,” The guy says, on the tail end of a sigh.

“And – and any curse has a resolution, right?” Phil says, with a little more conviction. “Like – in books and stuff, there’s always a way to resolve it yourself. So – so it’s not the end of the world.”

“I guess,” The guy says. Phil waits but he doesn’t say anything else, so he gets up and picks up his abandoned tray from the nearby table. “Thanks,” is the last thing he hears before he walks back to the counter.

-

“So what’s up with him?” PJ asks, a few minutes later, when they’ve cleared their sudden rush of customers.

“He’s having a bad day,” Phil says, adding a muffin on a plate to a tray with a cappuccino on it. “Can you take this over to him?”

PJ gives him this knowing look, all raised eyebrows and folded arms.

“It’s not,” Phil says, feeling himself flush. “Whatever you’re thinking, it’s not that.”

“I wasn’t thinking anything,” PJ says, but he grins before he takes the tray over in a way that makes Phil roll his eyes.

-

Their busy lunchtime turns into a surprisingly busy afternoon – it turns out there’s some business conference happening down the road so they get a gaggle of suited Queues, with their snatches of office gossip and their smartphones. At one point, Phil looks over at Cursed Guy’s table and finds it empty – he must’ve slipped out while Phil was preoccupied making six espressos and discussing their gluten free options with a man wearing the biggest, most expensive looking watch Phil’s ever seen.

Before he even has time to wonder where he’s gone – and wonder if the whole curse thing wasn’t just some weird prank – PJ appears, having just done another round of the shop for empty cup and plates.

“Found something for you,” He says, pushing a piece of paper into Phil’s hand.

It’s a Tesco receipt. Phil frowns at it, then frowns at PJ, then turns the receipt over.

_Sorry for going on like that. Thanks for listening even though I’m crazy – Dan_

“Oh,” Phil says, turning it back over.

“It doesn’t have his phone number on it,” PJ points out.

“I know,” Phil says. When he looks up, PJ’s giving him that knowing look again. “I _know_. Shut up.”

PJ grins and adds, “He left, like, fifteen quid. Which is way more than the drink and the muffin, so it looks like you just got your first tip.”

“Put it in the till,” Phil says. When PJ carries on giving him that look, he adds, “I didn’t expect his number, Peej. He’s just a guy having a bad day.”

“I know,” PJ says, putting the notes in the till and shutting it with a flourish. “You’re great for bad days. You’re like, the espresso shot of bad days.”

“What, I’m bitter and make people jittery?”

PJ laughs. Phil grins at him.

“Shut up, no. I mean like, a boost. You’re all understanding and – and you. I dunno, you always manage to shock me out of it. It probably worked on him too.”

“Maybe,” Phil says, vaguely, but he doesn’t think so.

“So, what was up with him anyway? Queue,” He adds, without taking a breath, as a woman wearing bright pink gloves and a bewildered expression walks in. “Was it a break up?”

 _I’ve never really told anyone about this before_. That’s what he’d said. Dan.

Squeezing the receipt tight in his hand for a second, Phil shoves it in his trouser pocket and says, “I dunno. He didn’t really say.”

-

Phil doesn’t really expect to see Dan again.

He finds himself thinking about him a lot. Not in the way PJ seems to think, either – just…curiously. Wondering if he’d been telling the truth or if the whole thing had been a huge joke. Wondering if he’d got rid of the curse. Wondering what that must be like – hypothetically, if the curse is real – to be surrounded by people happily in love all the time.

Pretty tiring, Phil thinks, when two Mondays after meeting Dan he’s stuck on the bus to work one seat behind two teenagers who look like they're trying to meld their faces together. Pulling a face, Phil turns his music up and stares out of the fugged-up window at the rainy passing streets.

“Peej,” He says, when he finally gets into work and the two of them are taking the chairs down off the tables before they open.

“Mm?” PJ says.

“If, like.” He pauses, leaning on a table, and PJ stops to look at him. “If you saw, like, couples everywhere, how would you feel?”

PJ shrugs.

“I dunno,” He says. “It depends what you mean by _everywhere_. Like, out in the street or whatever, that’s fine. Hiding in my wardrobe in a morning, not so fine.”

Phil laughs.

“Ok, ok,” He says, grinning. “But, like – ok, what if someone had _made_ it so you saw couples everywhere? Like a curse?”

PJ blinks, evidently thinking about it.

“Well,” He says. “That's different. Is it a curse with malicious intent? Like, you see couples everywhere and it'll drive you mad? Or is it, like, you'll see couples everywhere and it'll reinforce your faith in the human race?”

“The first one,” Phil says. “Like, meant in a bad way.”

“Oh,” PJ says, thoughtfully. “Well. I'd probably be annoyed. Sometimes it's bad enough seeing couples, but if you know you're only seeing them because of, like, a malicious curse, that'd just – drive me mad, probably.” He pauses, the two of them carrying on pulling chairs down in silence for a moment. “What made you think of that, anyway?”

“Oh, just something on TV last night,” Phil says, vaguely.

-

It's an unusually long morning.

Phil gets into a dispute with a middle aged woman about the panini she ordered (she insists she'd asked for ham and cheese but he's almost certain she just said cheese – he even has _cheese p_ scrawled on his orders notepad, but instead of telling her it's not his fault she changed her mind he's stuck being crawlingly apologetic and offering her her money back, biting his tongue and imagining her head exploding when she sneers at him), he slips over when he's mopping in the kitchen, which nearly leads to PJ sticking him with an _I told you so_ (“This is why I mop after we've closed,” he says, and then offers to buy him doughnuts at lunchtime when Phil shows him the bruise blossoming on his shin) and the morning rush seems never ending.

There's nothing more likely to give Phil a hit to the self-esteem than the black-clad flocks of business types they get in work in the mornings. It's like a casting call for The Apprentice between seven and eleven, and then there's a merciful half-hour of the sorts of customers who Phil prefers – students with bed hair rifling through notebooks and tired looking mums with babies.

Phil's just attempting an artistic swirl on top of someone's hot chocolate when PJ rushes past and hits him on the shoulder with a tea towel. The cream dribbles sadly onto Phil's wrist when he jumps in surprise, and he's just turning to glare, absent mindedly going to lick the cream off his hand when he sees why PJ hit him – Dan the Cupid Guy came back.

Phil scrubs his hand on a teatowel and hands the hot chocolate to the woman waiting for it, trying to seem cool and not like he's noticed that Dan seems to be edging along the counter in his direction, bypassing the couple of people milling around in the queue entirely.

“Hey,” Dan says, when he's close enough.

“Oh,” Phil says, as though he's only just spotted him. “Oh, hey.”

“You, er,” Dan hesitates. “You probably don't – I was the guy who came in a while back and, um. I like, whined at you, and, er.”

“No, no, I remember,” Phil says. “I mean – you didn't whine, you, like. Had a legitimate problem. Do you still-?”

As if on cue, a couple pass on their way to a table – holding hands, giggling, one of them pressing a kiss to the other's cheek. “Yeah,” Dan says, wryly. “But, erm. I just wanted to – like, thanks, you know?” Phil shakes his head automatically, because he didn't even _do_ anything, but Dan ignores him. “It really helped to tell someone. I'm just – I was having a really bad day, and I'm sorry for bothering you at work-”

“No, no, it's not bothering me,” Phil says, quickly. “Do you want, like? I can bring you over a drink?”

“Are you sure? That'd be great,” Dan says.

He smiles, and Phil notices his dimples for the first time.

-

“We don't technically do a table service,” PJ reminds him, as Phil's setting up a tray behind the counter. “He knows that, right? It's strictly, like, pregnant ladies and old people, that's it.”

“I offered,” Phil protests. PJ just looks at him for a moment – Phil can tell, but he's too busy staring at the coffee dripping down into a cup to look back. When he does, PJ raises his eyebrows at him. “I feel bad for the guy, that's all.”

“So there _was_ something wrong with him last time,” PJ says.

“I – he might have mentioned _something_ ,” Phil says, vaguely.

“Something that you didn't tell me?” PJ says, sounding a little hurt. “Is he a secret agent? Have you been dragged into some kind of government business? Because I've seen that kind of show, Phil, and it's always the clueless co-worker who gets gunned down-”

“You're not gonna get gunned down,” Phil says, rolling his eyes. “I just – you were right, ok, it's a breakup. I just – it wasn't my thing to tell, that's all.”

“Oh,” PJ says. Phil watches him looking over at where Dan's sat across the room, so he looks too. His head's bent over his phone, hair glinting a little under the lights. “Well, just – don't let him take advantage of you.”

Phil makes a weird spluttering noise.

“ _What_?”

PJ flutters his eyelashes exaggeratedly and says, “Oh, would you mind bringing my drink over to my table? And oh _no_ , it looks like I've left my wallet at home-”

“Oh my _God_ ,” Phil says.

“I'm just saying,” PJ calls after him as he takes the tray out to Dan's table.

What Phil doesn't turn back and say is that the time that PJ fancied the really pretty blonde girl who used to come in every day, Phil never said a word about him offering her free muffins and giving her extra cream on top of her hot chocolate. And now Phil's just trying to be a nice person and PJ thinks he's – what, being taken advantage of? He's just trying to be _kind_. It's good customer service.

“I could've just, like, waited for that,” Dan says, when Phil sets the tray down. “I mean – thank you, I just – you didn't have to.”

“It's ok,” Phil says. He lingers for an awkward second, then gestures back at the counter. “I should-”

“No, yeah, of course,” Dan says, smiling at him again.

-

He comes back in almost every day after that.

Sometimes he comes in early and orders cake with his coffee. On those days he sits for a little while at the table right under this print of a beach scene that Phil spends half his working life staring at.

Sometimes he just orders his coffee to go and leaves straight away.

Either way, there are always these moments when he's waiting for his drink that he and Phil (and sometimes PJ) end up talking. It's funny how they go from awkward, stilted conversations about the weather with Dan standing stiffly on the other side of the counter, hovering almost nervously, to Dan leaning his elbows on the countertop, taking too many packets of sugar and telling stories about his latest curse-related escapades.

“Yep, still cursed,” He says sometimes, almost wryly. At least he seems to be able to joke about it more and more – not like when he first visited the shop.

Most days, Phil doesn't even think of the curse all that much. Dan's interesting and funny and his laugh's surprisingly infectious, and between that and the raised eyebrows their newfound friendship gets him from PJ he sometimes forgets to remember the whole _cursed by Cupid_ thing.

-

“It's getting worse,” Dan lets him know, gloomily, two weeks after he became a regular in the shop. “Yesterday I was in a cab and the traffic was really slow, and it turned out that someone was, like, trying to pull off some elaborate declaration of love _in the middle of the road_. Like something out of a rom com.”

“ _What_?”

“I know,” Dan says. He's leaning up against the counter, drumming his fingers against it a little. A small part of Phil likes it when he lingers at the counter before going to sit down or leaving – he kind of looks forward to these little conversations. Not so much when Dan looks so sad, though. “And, like, I was gonna go and see this movie tonight, like, I bought tickets and everything and – Louise cancelled on me, and I just – it's just gonna be me in the dark on my own with all of these weird _couples_ , isn't it?”

“Well,” Phil hears himself say, as though another person's speaking with his voice. “I could come with you, if you want?” He pauses, feeling like his words are floating in the air in front of his mouth and wishing beyond hope that he could somehow breathe them back in, unheard. “I-I mean, it's – it's up to you, I-”

“Really?” Dan says, cloudy expression brightening a little. “Are you sure you don't mind experiencing couple central?”

“Course not,” Phil says. “We can just take the piss out of them, right? Take the edge off the whole...” He waggles his fingers, uncertainly.

“Curse thing,” Dan finishes for him, with a small smile. “Yeah, that'd be great. Awesome.”

“Awesome,” Phil echoes, softly.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ok, so this was late anyway but then My Chemical Romance did something so then this became SUPER late and idk basically I blame MCR. But mostly myself. (I'm sorry)
> 
> Final chapter should be up either today or tomorrow (but hopefully today, it's all I can do after a two week wait for an update, smh). Also say it with me guys: I'M NOT COMPLETELY HAPPY WITH THIS BUT I'M POSTING IT ANYWAY. Put it on my gravestone pls
> 
> HUGE love for the incomparable Eni who has great music taste and is also generally brilliant <3 And shout out to Darshana, who might be performing poetry as I type this <3 (ur great)

It's only after Dan leaves the shop and Phil's left in the post-lunchtime lull with PJ that he starts to think agreeing to go to the cinema with him was a terrible mistake.

It's not a date. It's _not_. Phil forcibly reminds himself of that for the rest of the day – as he wipes down tables and makes coffee and deals with tricky customers. It's _not_ a date. Dan just has a spare ticket, that's all, and doesn't want to go to the cinema on his own. Phil understands that – it's ok when the lights go down and you're by yourself in the dark, but walking in and buying popcorn and hanging around waiting is so _awkward_ alone – Phil knows from experience. He can hardly blame Dan for wanting someone to go with him.

Not that he'd wanted to go with _you_ , a little voice in the back of Phil's head pipes up. He wanted to go with his friend and she cancelled and you forced yourself into his plans.

Phil shakes his head a little in a futile attempt to shut off that train of thought, like someone swatting a fly. Dan wouldn't have said yes to him coming along if Phil had forced him into it. He just _suggested_ going, that's all, it's not like he didn't give Dan a choice. And he'd _smiled_ when Phil had suggested it.

Phil's pretty sure it was a good smile, not the sort of awkward grimace that means you want to be left alone. Not that he's ever seen Dan smile a _bad_ smile, but – that's not the point.

-

The look on PJ's face when Phil tells him at closing time says it all.

“No,” Phil says, vehemently, before he can even say anything. “ _No_ , Peej.”

“I didn't say anything!”

“You were gonna say something.”

“Maybe a little bit,” PJ says, after a moment's consideration. Phil rolls his eyes and turns away from him to stack some chairs, and PJ moves over to him, leaning unhelpfully against the nearest table. “You have to admit it's the oldest trick in the book. Right?”

“What?” Phil says, making it plain how insane he thinks PJ is. “The _come to the cinema with me because I have a spare ticket_ book?”

“Nobody ever has spare cinema tickets,” PJ says, wisely. “Ever.”

“Peej...”

“Seriously! Who preorders tickets? Have you ever preordered tickets?”

“Well, yeah-”

“Yeah, but not often, right?” When Phil doesn't say anything, PJ nods, raising his eyebrows. “Exactly.”

“I,” Phil says, because this conversation isn't exactly helping him keep his cool over this whole thing. “It's not a _date_ , ok?”

“I never said it was,” PJ says, innocently.

They're quiet for a while, closing up together. Phil's lost in an imaginary search through his wardrobe for acceptable clothes to wear tonight, and he stupidly thinks he's gonna be able to say bye to Peej and go home without Dan being brought up again.

It isn't until they're both giving everything one final once over behind the counter that PJ proves him wrong.

“So what’re you gonna wear on this date?”

“It’s _not_ a date!”

“What’re you gonna wear on this not-date, then?”

When Phil looks up, PJ’s leaning on the counter, cloth in hand, eyebrows raised.

“Dunno,” He admits, looking back at the shiny chrome front of the coffee machine. His own reflection is extra unflattering from this angle – warped like a funhouse mirror. “Whatever’s clean, I guess.”

“Nice.”

“Well, it’s not like I’ve had time to plan, or anything,” Phil says, defensively.

“I know.”

“I mean, he only asked me today-“

“I know.”

“And – and, like, it’s not a date anyway, so it’s not like it even _matters_ -“

“Phil,” PJ says. “I _know_.”

“Good,” Phil says, awkwardly. Then, after a pause, he adds, “Sorry. I'm just – I dunno.”

“It's ok,” PJ says, warmly. “And hey – _you'll_ be ok.”

“Yeah,” Phil says, hoping he sounds more certain than he feels.

-

He's unaccountably nervous as he surveys his reflection in his full-length mirror that evening. Despite all of his denial and bluster to PJ, there _is_ something about the night ahead that feels like a date, and it's been a long time since Phil went on a date. Long enough that he's pretty sure he's not meant to date anyone, ever. Especially not sweet people with great hair and dimples.

 _Shit_ , he thinks, scowling at his reflection.

A cinema implies a casual setting. On any ordinary trip to the cinema, Phil'd dress to buy a hot dog, which involves wearing any t-shirt he doesn't mind getting ketchup on.

There's no way in hell he's gonna risk eating a hot dog tonight. It's impossible to look attractive while you're dribbling bread crumbs and sauce into your lap. Not that it matters if he looks attractive or not, because it's not a date, but Phil isn't exactly in the habit of seeming gross and disgusting to his friends.

Not that Dan's a _friend_ , Phil thinks. They haven't known each other for all that long. Phil barely knows anything about him, except that he's cursed and he wears a lot of black and he finds it very easy to make Phil laugh, apparently. This is just some spare ticket thing. That's all.

“You're gonna have fun,” He tells his reflection, sternly. Sometimes he feels oddly disconnected from the worryingly pale guy looking back at him, his hair too dark and his glasses making him look like an owl. “It's gonna be _great_.”

His expression isn't exactly convincing. Sighing at himself and tugging at the hem of his probably-too-casual t-shirt one last time, Phil gets ready to leave.

-

It turns out that Phil's weird mirror encouragements didn't go to waste after all – he ends up having a great evening.

He'd been so worried about breaking this boundary between customer and barista that he'd forgotten to think of all the reasons why having an evening with Dan might be a good thing – like the ability to talk to him for long periods of time without interruption, or finally getting to talk about their mutual interests (“Oh wow, you win all the awards,” Dan says when he sees Phil's Pokémon t-shirt).

They get a cab to the cinema, and Dan insists on paying, so Phil offers to buy the popcorn. There's a moment in the queue for food where Phil thinks maybe this whole thing's a terrible idea – Dan's just wearing a plain black t-shirt and a jacket that's _stylish_ , somehow. On the rare occasions that Phil's worn all black he looks like he should be wearing eyeliner and a scowl – on Dan, it looks good. _Great_ , even.

Phil's just some guy who probably should've put contacts in before he left the house.

He's stuck in his own self-doubt when Dan nudges him a little and says, “God, I want a hot dog.”

Phil blinks, surprised, and then smiles.

“Me too, actually,” He admits.

Dan grins at him.

“I'll get the hot dogs if you get the popcorn?”

“No,” Phil protests. “You got the taxi. _And_ the tickets, it's fine, I can get both-”

“It's ok, I don't mind,” Dan says.

“We can split it,” Phil says, firmly. “If – if that's ok with you. So we're both...and I can pay you half of the cab fare, and-”

“It doesn't matter,” Dan insists, as they step up to the counter. “Honestly.” He flashes Phil a smile – it's a PJ sort of smile, the kind that makes Phil's stomach swoop. “So. D'you like mustard?”

-

There's no shortage of curse-related activity in the cinema. Every other customer seems to be a hand-holding couple, and every time one of them passes by Dan gives Phil a long-suffering look. It's only the twinkle in his eye that lets Phil know that he's not being entirely serious. Phil's just glad he's not letting it bother him.

“It's not as bad today as it has been,” Dan admits, as they're filing down a row to their seats. He's holding their hot dogs aloft like they're a source of light. The screening room's gradually filling up around them, and Phil's already stood on two people's feet just moving down the row. “Like. No traffic-stopping declarations, at least. But if I hear any weird noises when the lights go down, I swear to God-”

“Dan,” Phil says, half-laughing, as they sit down.

“I'm serious,” Dan says, his eyes sparkling. “I'll self-righteously kick the back of the chair of anyone who interrupts my, like, _cinematic enjoyment_ with their weird romance bullshit.”

“You're a true hero,” Phil tells him.

“A cursed guy on a mission,” Dan says, grinning and handing him his hot dog. There's an awkward moment when Phil thinks he might end up dropping it in the popcorn, but they end up safe. “We should've got drinks.”

“What?” Phil says, trying to sneakily lick ketchup off his finger. “Oh, it's ok, I've got coke in my bag. You can have some if you want.”

“Really?” Dan says, as pleased as if Phil just announced his bag's full of unicorns. “I _knew_ you were the right person to go to the cinema with.”

It's such a _non-compliment_ , just a generic nicety, but Phil feels himself flush all the same.

It's a theme that continues for the rest of the evening. Dan says things, does things, and Phil's just...dangerously charmed, by everything. The movie's good, and he waits until the lights go down before he starts eating his hot dog, and there are even some ridiculous clichéd moments when their hands brush in the popcorn bucket.

Maybe the curse is working on him, Phil considers, when he slips out to go to the bathroom during a lull. He's curiously red in the face, nowhere near as pale-looking as earlier, and he takes a second to smile at himself before he rushes back to the screening room.

Maybe it isn't the curse, he thinks, when he sits back down and Dan leans over to whisper what he'd missed into his ear, the puff of hot breath making him almost-shudder. Maybe it's just Dan.

-

“Your boyfriend's back,” PJ says, in a low voice, two weeks later.

Phil studiously doesn't look over at where Dan's probably standing, coat pulled tight against the autumn chill, hair windswept.

Ok, so maybe he looks a _little_.

“He's not – shut up,” Phil says, tearing his eyes away in favour of wiping the already-clean sideboard with a wet sponge. “He had a _girlfriend_.”

PJ scoffs, shaking cocoa powder onto a latte and giving it to a customer with a smile.

“Like _you've_ not had girlfriends,” He says, still smiling his customer-smile.

“Yeah, but – but I've had boyfriends too,” Phil says, feeling himself flush, stupidly. “But like – that's _me_ , I – he might -”

“Be one of us lamentable heterosexuals,” PJ finishes for him. “I know. But also completely not likely, considering the way he looks at you.”

“Oh God, shut up,” Phil sing-songs under his breath, looking up at the wrong moment from refilling the sugar basket and catching Dan's eye.

Dan grins and waves at him, and Phil just raises his eyebrows and whirls away, narrowly avoiding spilling sugar packets everywhere in the process.

“You know,” PJ says, in a low voice, bustling past him with the whipped cream in hand. “If his smile gets any bigger when he sees you he's gonna end up blinding me. I could sue for damages.”

“ _PJ_ ,” Phil says, probably a little too loudly.

PJ just grins at him as he sets the cream down and takes an iced tea over to another waiting customer.

Which leaves Phil as the only person free to serve Dan. Of course it does.

“Hi,” He says, awkwardly, digging in the pocket of his apron for his notepad, even though Dan always orders the same thing.

“Hey,” Dan says, with another bright smile.

“Same as usual?”

“Hmm,” Dan says, eyes trailing over the menu. He has one of those faces, Phil thinks. The sort of face that makes people want to look twice. Phil sees people looking at him twice when he's just sitting in the shop, minding his own business. Not that Dan seems to notice. “I dunno. I mean, it's _Friday_ , and that's...”

“Well, you can't just have a cappuccino on _Friday_ ,” Phil says, playing along.

“Exactly,” Dan says, with a soft smile. “Er. What's your hot chocolate like?”

“Phil adds extra cream for his favourite customers,” PJ chimes in, flashing Phil a grin over the bag of coffee beans he's carrying.

Phil feels his face grow warm at that.

“I-”

“And sprinkles.”

“ _And_ sprinkles,” Dan says, raising his eyebrows, eyes bright with amusement. “You had me at extra cream, not gonna lie. One hot chocolate, please.”

“Are you staying in?”

“Er,” Dan looks over at the clock on the wall behind the counter and pulls a face. “Shit, no, I can't. Ugh.”

“Ok,” Phil says.

He takes Dan's money and goes to make the drink, focusing on the machine for a moment rather than the stupid, embarrassing thudding of his heart, and the (even stupider) heavy feeling of disappointment sinking into his bones.

Much as he's tried to avoid thinking about it, days when Dan stays in for a while have slowly become his favourites. It's _nice_ , looking over and seeing him sitting there, more often than not seconds away from hopping up to share an anecdote with Phil over the counter.

The hot chocolate's done in no time at all, and Phil haphazardly adds the promised cream and sprinkles, studiously avoiding anyone's eye until he's setting the to-go cup down in front of Dan.

“I can't fit a lid on,” He says, apologetically, pushing a lid across the counter to him. “I, er. It's not a proper hot chocolate unless you're risking a cream moustache.”

“True,” Dan agrees, nodding. “Er. Thanks.”

“No problem,” Phil says. “I, erm. It's a shame you can't stick around.”

“I know,” Dan says, slumping his shoulders a little in a show of exaggerated dejection. “Er – oh, hey, I could sit in tomorrow! What time d'you start? I – I mean,” He looks a little pink for a moment. “I could come and bother someone else but it probably wouldn't have the same charm, y'know, like, ringing the police might be involved...”

Phil laughs. It's weirdly nervous-sounding.

“I'm in at eleven. 'Til, like, three.”

“Ok,” Dan says. “I – guess I'll see you then.”

He gives Phil one last smile, then he's gone.

“That was your cue to be, like, _it's a date_ ,” PJ informs him, sliding up next to him seemingly out of nowhere.

“I hate you,” Phil says.

“ _I'll see you then_ ,” PJ says, ignoring him in favour of doing a terrible Dan impression. “ _It's a date_ ,” He adds, in the worst Northern accent Phil's ever had the misfortune to hear. “See what I mean?”

“Are you done?” Phil wants to know. “Or is there, like, a musical number coming up based on our conversation too?”

“Ah, no, I'd need extra time to come up with something like that,” PJ says, grinning at him. Phil can't help but smile back – PJ's just that kind of person. “Sorry. You guys are just, like...” He waves his hand in some incomprehensible gesture.

“Alive,” Phil suggests, sarcastically. “Human. Both into Pokémon.”

“He likes Pokémon too?” PJ asks. “You never said! What's his favourite?”

“How am I supposed to know?”

“ _Oh, hey Dan, what's your favourite Pokémon?_ And if he says something awful you sever all ties.”

“Oh my _God_ ,” Phil says, because that's quite enough discussing Dan for one day.

-

It's a rainy Wednesday a few weeks later when Dan slouches into the shop, his usual smile nowhere to be seen. Phil’s heart sinks a little, and he wonders if the curse has got worse somehow. Or maybe it's non-curse related. Either way, the way Dan mills around in the queue, the line of his shoulders looking oddly defeated, makes something in Phil's chest tighten painfully.

It's too much like the first time Dan walked into the shop – too much like when they didn't know each other all.

“D’you want me to bring it over?” Phil asks, when it comes to serving him.

Dan’s expression softens almost instantly.

“Nah, it’s ok,” He says. “Er. I’ll have the usual though.”

“Sure you don’t want a hot chocolate?”

Dan grins, then laughs a little under his breath.

Phil worries he’s done something stupid without realising until Dan says, “How d’you always do that?”

“What?”

Dan doesn't say anything for a moment, just looking at him, and Phil finds himself worrying about the sandwich that he'd eaten earlier. He probably has lettuce stuck in his teeth, or something.

“Nothing,” Dan says at last, a little red in the face as he looks down at the counter. “I – nothing.”

“Ok,” Phil says, faintly. “I, erm. I'll just go and get that.”

He ends up joining Dan at his table anyway, in the end. He's watching espresso drip down into a cup and half-glancing over at Dan, trying to concentrate on both at the same time without burning himself.

“Just go, will you?” PJ says, making Phil jump and nearly scald himself. “It's not like we're busy.”

PJ's an amazing friend, Phil thinks, as he arms himself with pastry to approach Dan's table. He thinks it's somehow less pathetic to sit down opposite Dan and push a plate across the table rather than just...sitting down with no reason to be there. 

“Cinnamon twist,” He explains, apologetically, when Dan looks at him. “It's like. Pastry. And. Cinnamon. I dunno. I can take it back if you don't like it.”

“No, that's great,” Dan says, with a small smile, moving the plate a little closer to himself. “Thanks.”

“No problem,” Phil says. Then, lowering his voice a little, he adds, “So, how's the whole...you know, _thing_?”

“Terrible,” Dan says, pulling a face. Then he laughs at himself. “I – I know it's stupid to get so – I dunno, there are worse things happening in the world, aren't there? You said so yourself.”

“I. I didn't exactly say _that_ ,” Phil says, guiltily, watching Dan pick at the pastry. “I mean, your own problems are, like...you shouldn't compare them to other stuff, or you'll drive yourself mad. Like. If something bothers you then it's valid, right? Even if it seems, like, comparatively...not as important as other things.”

“Ah, Phil,” Dan says. “That's my entire life. Like, comparing my problems to other people's, feeling guilty for worrying about such stupid things – oh, and then more recently, worrying about dying alone. Like, that's a new addition.”

He sounds kind of bashful, smiling a little, but Phil decides to take him seriously.

“You're not gonna die alone,” He says, firmly. “And – everyone worries about that, trust me. But you – you really shouldn't.”

“I know,” Dan says, sighing. “It's just – I wonder if that's part of it too, you know? The curse. Like, _constantly_ thinking about this stuff.”

“Maybe,” Phil says, even though he has no idea. Impulsively, he adds, “Hey, you could, like. I mean, we could. Like.” Dan frowns the tiniest amount, giving him a curious look. “At my flat. Like. Curse research. You know. How to get rid of it.”

“Oh,” Dan says. He looks almost disappointed for all of half a second, but it happens so fast Phil's pretty sure he imagined it. “Really? 'Cause I already looked online, and I didn't find anything helpful.”

“Yeah, well, you weren't looking with _me_ ,” Phil says, because he's an idiot. At least Dan laughs, rolling his eyes in what Phil hopes is an affectionate sort of way. “I – I mean, we could get pizza. And stuff. And I promise I'm not an axe murderer.”

“That's a glowing endorsement, I feel so much safer about coming to your place now,” Dan says, utterly deadpan. Then he grins, and Phil feels a little bit like someone just hit him in the face. “What time d'you want me to come over?”

-

In a show of solidarity, PJ gives him a lift home that evening.

“Ok, ok, pretend I'm Dan,” He says, when Phil's letting them in his front door. “Oh, wow, you have a lot of stuff.”

“I know,” Phil says, despairingly, diving forwards to snatch up the nearest abandoned pair of socks. “I just – I've been so busy lately, and – and I should clean, and then I don't, and _God_ , why do we end up making these last minute plans?”

“Actually I was pretending to be Dan,” PJ says, unhelpfully. “But you do have a lot of stuff. Come here.” He kicks the door shut behind them and strides forwards to the coffee table, grabbing the stack of weird lifestyle magazines that have been sitting there for the past six months. “Since when do you read... _this stuff_?”

“I don't. Mum brings them when she visits 'cause she thinks giving them to me counts as recycling,” Phil says, distractedly, carrying his small bundle of scrunched-up socks into the kitchen and throwing them into the (mercifully empty) washing machine.

“Well, is there anywhere they can go? Like, recycling or something?” PJ says, joining him in the kitchen. Phil looks up at him, standing uncertainly on the threshold with the magazines under his arm and dirty coffee cups in his hands.

“Peej,” Phil says, feeling suddenly guilty. “You don't have to-”

“I know,” PJ says, carefully setting the coffee cups down next to the sink. “But seriously, where do you want me to put them?”

Between them, they manage to restore Phil's tiny little flat to some semblance of cleanliness. It's a weird relief, looking around the living room and seeing nothing but neatly placed cushions and not a single dirty sock or discarded t-shirt in sight.

PJ had left him lighting the scented candles on the top of his bookshelf. He'd given him a worried look when he'd got the lighter out of the kitchen drawer, but Phil hasn't started a house fire yet, and he doesn't plan to any time soon.

Lighting candles turns out to have been a great idea when Dan arrives. The first thing he says after Phil lets him in an hour later is “Wow, it smells great in here.”

“Oh, thanks,” Phil says, hovering awkwardly while Dan takes off his jacket. “It's a mix of, like, toasted marshmallow and vanilla frosting.”

“It makes me want cake, I'm not gonna lie,” Dan says. “So. Um. Where should we start?”

Phil has no idea. He thought maybe he'd come up with an idea between them making this plan and Dan arriving, but all the cleaning kind of drove the actual reason for Dan's visit right out of his mind.

“Maybe we should go to the library,” He suggests, uncertainly. They can't eat pizza in the library, but there has to be something helpful in some book _somewhere_.

“Ok, Hermione,” Dan says, grinning.

“I was thinking more Willow,” Phil admits.

Dan snorts, shooting him this sideways look, his eyes sparkling.

“’Course you were,” He says, in a tone of voice that Phil could easily let himself identify as _fond_. “Nah, I don’t know if the library’s the answer. And I’ve tried Google, like, trust me, I’ve looked up Cupid so many times the Wikipedia page shows up as one of my most visited sites.”

“Hmm,” Phil says, thoughtfully. “We could try Yahoo Answers?”

He expects Dan to rubbish the idea immediately, but instead he pauses, fingers resting against his chin.

“It’s worth a try,” He says, with a shrug.

-

“I mean, maybe it’s legit,” Phil says, forty minutes later.

He’s never actually gone on Yahoo Answers on purpose, but Dan obviously has – they spent twenty minutes clicking through the funniest looking questions in various categories, and Phil had ended up laughing so much he’d given himself a stitch. Dan’s still making the weird sigh noises that usually come on the tail end of a giggling fit, and Phil finds it ridiculously endearing.

It’s worrying how much Phil enjoys seeing him there – at the other end of his sofa, sprawled out, socked feet tucked underneath him, the skin of his arms curiously distracting out of the corner of Phil's eye. Whenever he leans forwards to gesture at something on the screen it gives Phil this renewed awareness of his aftershave, their shoulders bumping warmly.

“Run it by me again,” Dan says, leaning back so his head’s resting on the back of the sofa. When he turns to look at Phil like that, it makes his neck into this long line that draws Phil’s eye. Or it would, if he let it.

Coughing, he looks back at his laptop.

“Er, _ok this is going to sound weird_ -“

“You’re telling me, mate.”

”I know right,” Phil says, absently, scrolling through the wall of text, picking out random words. “Er – God, they don’t half go on.”

“Great, we’ve got ourselves a novelist,” Dan says, dryly, leaning forwards to take a look himself.

It leaves him squashed up against Phil even though the couch is more than big enough for the two of them, and Phil finds himself having to focus more studiously on the safe space of the laptop screen and keyboard. Anywhere but at Dan, who’s warm and great-smelling.

“Wait, wait,” Dan says, shaking Phil from his extra-focused reverie and nudging his hands off the trackpad. “Look, they mention the pink light! Er, blah blah, something about a girl, _and there was a pink light in the air at the time I thought it was a party light but afterwards when the effects took place I changed my mind_ – Jesus, use a comma.”

“You never use commas,” Phil says, without thinking.

“I do,” Dan protests.

“No, you don’t,” Phil insists, grinning a little at the look on Dan’s face. Then he falters, because revealing that he recently found Dan’s Twitter and occasionally checks it just out of curiosity hadn’t exactly been on his to do list today. “I-I mean. On Twitter.”

“Oh,” Dan says, apparently unperturbed. “Pff, that’s different, that’s, like, a stylistic choice.”

“Whatever you say,” Phil says. “But if it turns out Cupid just goes for people who don’t use commas then you might have to temporarily drop your _stylistic choices_.”

“Never,” Dan says, mock-staunchly. Then, after a half-second’s hesitation, he adds, “Do you really think that's-?”

”No,” Phil says, firmly. “That’s definitely not why.”

“Like we actually know,” Dan says, shoulders slouching. Phil just watches him for a second, and the way his dimples make an appearance when he purses his lips for a second, idly scratching the back of his head. He has long eyelashes, Phil thinks. Nice eyelashes. “What do the answers say, anyway?”

”Sorry?”

”The answers,” Dan repeats. “You know, the main part of Yahoo Answers. Otherwise it’d just be, like, Yahoo Unanswered Questions.”

“Oh,” Phil says, leaning forwards to look at his laptop.

The most voted-for response says _your imagining things_ , with the source as _dont do drugs kids_.

“It can’t be _that_ bad,” Dan says, when Phil doesn’t say anything. Then he leans forwards to see for himself. There’s a moment when he’s reading quietly and Phil’s worried he might get upset about it, and then he snorts. “Because I take all my medical advice from someone whose grammar is _that_ good, sure.”

“Well, it _is_ Yahoo Answers,” Phil says. “I don't think I've ever seen a helpful answer on there. But – at least we know it's not just you, right?”

“Yeah,” Dan says, sighing a little. Then, spinning his phone in his hand, he adds, “So, didn't you mention pizza earlier?”

-

They end up watching the Fellowship of the Ring (“I'm gonna cry at the end, you can't do this to me,” Dan had said when Phil was putting the DVD in) and eating too much pizza. Phil's already feeling drowsy just from sitting on the sofa in the warm, but after a little way into the film, his stomach full and his legs covered by a blanket, he starts drifting off.

Phil doesn't mean to fall asleep. At first he keeps waking with a start, his heart lurching unpleasantly. _I'll stay awake until Moria_ , he tells himself, and then Moria comes and goes and Dan makes this funny sniffing noise just after Gandalf falls into the chasm.

“I'm not crying, I swear,” He says in a stage whisper. There's a proprietary space between them now, even though they're sort of sharing the same blanket to keep their legs warm. “I'm just getting a cold.”

“Sure,” Phil says, smiling sleepily at him and trying to stifle a yawn. “You can totally cry, you know, it's fine.”

“I know,” Dan says, softly. The way his eyes reflect the movement on the TV screen is sort of mesmerising. Phil has to force himself to tear his eyes away.

Phil doesn't mean to fall asleep, and he doesn't know when exactly he does, except he wakes up an unknown amount of time later with his head pillowed on Dan's shoulder. He's leaning heavily on him, probably making his arm numb.

Dan smells great – his aftershave isn't too strong, but it's a nice smell, and there's a sort of _clean clothes_ smell about him too. That's without even mentioning the strangely soothing sound of him breathing from this close – deep, even breaths, like waves.

When Phil blinks a little, awake enough to realise where he is and what's going on, he sits up so fast his blood rushes weirdly and he thinks he's gonna throw up.

“Whoa,” Dan says, softly, like someone talking to a horse. “Jesus, you just scared the crap out of me.”

“Oh my God,” Phil says, his voice coming out all scratchy and weird-sounding. On screen, Sam's wading into the river. “Oh _God_ , I'm so sorry-”

“It's ok,” Dan says.

When Phil looks at him, he's kind of red in the face. He's probably mortified. Phil definitely is. Why is he so _stupid_?

“Oh God,” Phil reaches up to flatten down his hair, distractedly. The roof of his mouth feels uncomfortably dry and his face is unpleasantly hot. “I'm – wow, I didn't mean to-”

“It's ok,” Dan insists. “You've been at work all day, I – I don't expect you to be like, I dunno. It's _fine_ , Phil.” He grins. “At least you've distracted me from getting upset. This is the bit that normally has me, like, a puddle.”

“Oh,” Phil says, looking back at the screen. He's never really cried at this bit, but he can see why someone would. “I – it's the last movie that gets me. With the – everything.”

“God, same,” Dan says, with feeling. “We should – hey, we could, like. Watch them. I mean, some other time, like – you have work tomorrow, and I should've thought about that before I stayed so late, but-”

“It's fine,” Phil says. “And – that'd be great. Like, the other films. Seriously.”

The way Dan smiles then, illuminated softly by the lamplight in Phil's living room, sticks with him for a long time afterwards.

-

“...and then I fell asleep, and he was, like, so polite about the whole thing, but I was kind of leaning on him, and-”

“Oh my God.”

“-I dunno, it can't have been too bad because he was like, suggesting we watch the rest of the films together.”

“Oh my _God_.”

“And then he texted me afterwards-”

“Wait, you have his number now?” PJ asks, peering over Phil's shoulder as he pulls his phone out of his apron pocket. “Why didn't you say anything?”

Phil shrugs.

“It's not, like, _big_ news," He says, like he didn't want to do a victory lap of his living room when Dan had left, leaving _Dan ^_^_ as a new contact in his phone.

“Yeah it is,” PJ says. The door dings, and a man with a clipboard and a crooked tie walks in, blinking like he just woke up from a dream. “Queue. Now you can finally ask him what his favourite Pokémon is.”

“I really don't like you,” Phil tells him in an undertone as he steps forwards to serve the customer.

“Yeah you do,” PJ replies, a few minutes later, when Phil's topping up the milk jug. “I bet he only wanted to come over again because my makeover job was so great. I'm genuinely considering a career in professional cleaning.”

“Peej, oh my _God_.”

PJ just grins at him.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And it's done! This idea was so random and Idk where it came from (still) but thank you so so much to anyone who left kudos or commented, you're great and I really appreciate it ^^ honestly it gives me so much confidence and makes me so so happy and Idk just thank you <3

“I can't believe we didn't think of this before,” Dan says.

Phil never really gave driving a second thought before. He _can_ drive, but it's not one of his more refined skills, put it that way, and when PJ gives him lifts to places they spend most of the time bickering about what songs to listen to more than anything else. But sitting in the passenger seat of Dan's car (“It's my _mum's_ car,” Dan keeps reminding him, but even so), watching him manouvre and use the gearstick and swear under his breath when people cut him off unexpectedly, it's – it's -

Phil doesn't know. He doesn't even want to think about it. All he knows for sure is that it's sort of...hard to look away from.

“You've really never been back there?” Phil asks, trying to keep his mind on the conversation at hand – discussing the prospect of visiting the place where Dan actually got cursed.

“Nope. I never – it didn't really occur to me. I was a _mess_ at that party, I didn't really want to, like, show my face at the scene of the crime.”

Phil snorts at that.

“You didn't do anything _that_ bad.”

“How do you know?” Dan says. “Maybe I only remember half of all the awful shit that I did.” He snorts, after a moment's pause, and Phil's eyes catch on the movement of his bare arms, his hands on the steering wheel. “Hey, didn't that Yahoo Answer say, like, _don't do drugs_? Like, don't fucking _drink_ , kids, you'll get cursed by Cupid and you'll end up seeing couples everywhere forever.”

“Not _forever_ ,” Phil says, encouragingly, clicking through to Maps on his phone. “We're gonna sort it out, don't worry.”

“Hmm,” Dan says. Then he glances over at Phil, a little guiltily. “Sorry. Thanks for this. I shouldn't even – like, this is your day off, d'you really want to be driving around town with me all day?”

 _Yes_ , Phil thinks, instantly.

“It's like a road trip,” He says, instead. “I'm in it for the snacks, to be honest.”

Dan grins at him and says, “Ok, but only if we get them from a shitty petrol station. Like, the kind where the cans of coke sort of smell like perfume.”

“Oh _God_ ,” Phil groans, while Dan laughs. “No, I take it back, you can keep your snacks.”

“There's always McDonalds,” Dan reminds him. “With the drive thru for minimal human contact.”

“I'm in,” Phil says, feeling so warm and happy for a moment that he could easily be back at home on his sofa, wrapped up in blankets.

-

Forty minutes, one very minimal squabble and two laughing fits later (and Dan had to pull over for the second one to wipe the tears out of his eyes), they pull into a dingy street just off a main road that Phil's never seen before in his life.

Maybe he's being unfair because it's raining, and hardly any place is gonna look great in a downpour, but it doesn't exactly look like somewhere where fun times could be had by all. It sort of looks like the setting for a Crimewatch reconstruction.

“You went to a party _here_?” He asks, looking out at their somewhat dismal view of graffiti and wheelie bins.

“I was heartbroken, remember,” Dan reminds him. “I think it's left down here.”

He turns around a tight corner and out into an even dingier sidestreet, clumps of grass growing between paving slabs. Dan switches the engine off and just sits for a moment, staring out of the windscreen.

“It's not there,” He says, hollowly, after a moment.

“Oh,” Phil says, squinting at Google Maps on his phone. “Well – maybe we made a wrong turning back there?”

“No, I mean – this is it, this is the right place,” Dan says, rubbing his hands over his eyes. “But it's _gone_ , Phil. This is the place, I know it is. I ordered a cab from the corner of Church Street, that's Church Street there. I even bought a kebab from-” He turns in his seat, straining to look over his shoulder. “Over there, you see it?”

“Yeah,” Phil says, turning dutifully to squint at the blank front of a kebab shop through the fogged-up car windows. He looks at Dan, who has one hand over his mouth, eyes a little blank and disbelieving, and squashes down the instinct to reach out and touch him the way he would if this was him and PJ. “Look – ok, so it's not there. That – that proves that it happened, right? Because – because – well, buildings only, like, disappear when there's magic involved, right? So that, like, proves it...” He trails off when Dan looks at him.

“That doesn't make any sense,” He says, almost-smiling. “Phil, the fact that the place isn't there should have you, like, jumping and running from the crazy guy driving you around town.”

“You're not crazy,” Phil says, firmly.

Someone's running across the rain-washed sidestreet in front of them, and he ends up watching out of the corner of his eye – it's a woman, and when she reaches the man she's headed for they start having some ridiculous end-of-a-romcom style kiss halfway off the pavement.

Phil touches Dan's arm to get his attention and points at the two of them, getting wetter and wetter by the second in the pouring rain.

“Look. I can see that with my own two eyes. _That_ proves there's something going on.”

“Oh God,” Dan says, resting his head on the steering wheel with a groan. “Does it? Maybe it's all just – coincidence, maybe – maybe you were right the first time, maybe it's just because of my ex, and – and I, like, feel like I'm seeing extra couples everywhere just 'cause – I dunno, I miss her, or whatever.”

Phil doesn't know what to say straight away. He's quiet for a moment, half-watching the couple, who are finally getting in out of the rain, grinning and pulling each other along.

“Do you miss her?” He asks, at last, eyes touching on the line of Dan's hunched shoulders and the strangely pale skin of the back of his neck.

Dan sighs. “No,” He admits, after a while, turning his face to look at Phil, head still resting on the steering wheel. “I. I mean, like, I miss there being _someone_ , maybe. Just – just someone.”

Phil's heart aches for him a little.

“You'll find someone else," He says.

Dan pulls a face.

“Mm,” He says. “I'm sure people are gonna queue up to go on dates with the guy who's constantly guaranteed to be surrounded by _other_ people kissing.”

“Maybe they won't notice,” Phil says, weakly.

“Yeah, right,” Dan says, sceptically. Then he sighs. “It's ok. I'm not really – I don't really want to look for anything like that right now. You know? I just – sometimes I _think_ I do and then I think about, like, wearing good clothes and meeting new people and I just, like...nope.”

Phil doesn't think he could agree more with that.

“I know exactly how you feel,” He says, sincerely.

-

“Oh, that's weird,” PJ says.

Phil yawns. There's nothing worse than opening up the shop on cold mornings – he wastes most of his time trying to hide his face in the collar of his coat and rubbing his hands together to try and shock some life into them.

“Look at this,” PJ says, handing him something.

It's a plain white postcard, with no stamp or address – blank save for one line.

 _Focus on yourself rather than on other people_ , it says. Phil frowns, turning the card over, but that's it – just that. One little line.

“What the hell?”

PJ shrugs, finally shutting the shop door behind them and hurrying to go and turn the old radiators on.

“Looks like one of those hipster things, doesn't it? _Follow your dreams_ and all of that. I'm sure I've seen stuff like that in the card shop down the road, it's probably just advertising...”

Phil turns the card over again. And then again, with a jolt of surprise because for a second he's sure the words changed.

For a moment it says he _should focus on himself_ , the words glowing pinkly, but when he looks again the card's just the same as it was when PJ handed it to him, plain and nondescript.

He should focus on himself. Frowning, Phil slips across the shop to the stockroom next to the kitchen where he normally leaves his coat. He looks at the card one last time, moving it this way and that, to try and encourage it to do something, but it doesn't.

He puts it in his coat pocket and goes to help PJ.

-

Not for the first time, that morning Phil wishes more than anything that he could tell PJ about the curse without feeling like he was betraying Dan's trust. PJ's brain is always working on something, his mind always spinning off in twelve different directions, and Phil knows he'd probably solve the card mystery _and_ the curse in a matter of minutes.

It has to be Cupid, Phil thinks. The thought makes him feel weirdly nervous. It's not like he never believed Dan's story, or anything, it's just that he never expected to get directly involved in it. Not like this, anyway.

For about half an hour he entertains the possibility that he's cursed now too, but business is slow all morning and the few customers they have seem intent on keeping themselves to themselves, so he doesn't think so.

When he goes back into the stockroom at lunchtime to fetch his coat, the card's gone, like it was never there in the first place.

-

“He's late,” PJ says, under his breath, when Dan walks into the shop after the lunchtime rush has dissipated. “I take it you wanna-?”

Phil doesn't even bother to answer – just moves over to smile at Dan, who looks wide-eyed and a little lost.

“Hey,” He says. “Same as usual?”

“Er,” Dan blinks, like he's surprised to find himself there. “Er, no, I -” He moves awkwardly, like he's about to rush back out of the shop.

Phil frowns.

“What's up?”

“Can I talk to you for a minute?” He says, all in a rush, like he's trying to force the words out. “Like, er.” He looks at PJ, who's stacking spoons nearby and pointedly not looking at the two of them. “In the back, maybe?”

Phil blinks, ignoring the way his heart quickens stupidly at the thought of Dan wanting them to be alone together. The number of times his brain's spun this exact scenario (each with a more unlikely ending than the last) means he has to take a moment to convince himself that this is real and Dan only sees Phil as a barista – maybe as a friend, some days. That's it.

With that in mind, he says, “Sure. Peej, d'you mind if-?”

“I'll give you a shout if we get busy,” PJ says.

“It – it shouldn't take that long,” Dan says. If Phil didn't know better he'd think he was nervous. There's something about the way he's repeatedly flattening his hair and pulling down the cuffs of his jacket, like he's about to deliver a speech in front of a crowd.

“Are you ok?” Phil ends up asking him in a low voice as he leads him to the storeroom, wiping his hands on his apron.

“Sorry?” Dan says, like he wasn't even listening. “Oh, er, yeah, I'm fine.”

“I'm glad you showed up, actually, because something really weird happened,” Phil tells him, once they're in the cool dimness of the storeroom. “I, er, there was this postcard under the coffee shop door today, when we came in for work? I swear there was, and then – it's gone now, it disappeared, but – it said something about focusing on yourself rather than other people, right? And it was kind of _pinkish_ , you know, and then, with the whole disappearing thing, I'm pretty sure it was, like...a curse thing.”

Dan's eyes are darting here there and everywhere over Phil's face, making him feel weirdly nervous. He reaches up to wipe at his chin, just in case there's something there – chocolate from the cupcake he'd had earlier, maybe.

“So,” He says, losing his train of thought a little under the strange intensity of Dan's gaze. “I – I thought, you know, focusing on yourself, like, if it means _you_ , maybe it means – you should, like. Er. Date someone.” Dan doesn't say anything for a moment, and Phil worries he'd sounded pathetic and given himself away, so he hurries to clarify. “I mean, like, _anyone_ , really. There's that guy who comes in on Tuesdays, I'm pretty sure he...he likes you. Or – or someone from work, maybe. I dunno. I just. That might be the way to break the curse.”

Dan blinks and takes a little step backwards.

“Oh,” He says.

“I mean,” Phil says, a sudden rush of nerves making him babble. “I-it's just an idea, like – I mean, you don't have to, like, whatever, it's just – I know the whole curse thing really gets to you, so I just thought-”

“No, no,” Dan says, suddenly not meeting Phil's eye. “You're right. I – no, that's a great idea. I should – I should just date – anyone, yeah.”

“Only if you _want_ to,” Phil says, frowning a little. “Like – it just seems like that's the way to break it, that's all.”

“Yeah,” Dan says. “That's a great idea, thanks – thanks for telling me.”

“It's ok,” Phil says. Dan's eyes are darting everywhere again, but this time it seems like he's avoiding looking at Phil altogether. “So, um. What was it you wanted to talk about?”

“Oh, nothing,” Dan says, fishing his phone out of his pocket. “Actually, I – wow, it's later than I thought, I should just – er – I'll see you around, yeah?”

“Dan?”

Dan meets his eye for all of half a second, eyes wide and almost afraid-looking before he hurries out of the stockroom, the door swinging shut behind him.

-

“Queue.”

“Mm,” Phil says, absently, not looking up from where he's straightening up the bottles of coffee syrup. “Yep, sure.”

He stands there for a little while, prodding the bottles of syrup, lost in his thoughts. It's only when PJ slides up next to him and pokes him in the shoulder that he looks up.

“Sorry?”

“Three lattes to go,” PJ says. “You're stood in front of the machine.”

“Oh,” Phil says, blinking. “Oh, I'll – don't worry, I'll sort them out.”

“Ok,” PJ says, frowning at him a little before he goes back to the till.

Phil makes the drinks on autopilot, feeling like he's moving through fog.

It's been a week since he saw Dan – a week since their weird conversation in the stockroom. Phil keeps mulling over what he said, what Dan said, trying to understand what he might've done wrong.

He's pretty sure he didn't say anything that Dan could've misinterpreted. Almost sure. The more he thinks about it the less sure he becomes – the more distant he is from what he actually said.

Maybe it's because he started talking first – after all, Dan wanted to talk to him about something and Phil just burst in there with his theory about the curse. That's annoying, isn't it, when someone interrupts you?

Except Dan doesn't seem like the type of person to indulge in a seven day silence over Phil _interrupting him_. That seems petty, even to Phil. But then why else would he not come back for coffee for so long? Why else would he have ignored Phil's text?

He only sent one, two days ago. When Dan didn't reply, he just left it. The last thing he wants is to be _that_ guy, constantly bothering Dan with texts. Maybe Dan just doesn't want to see him.

Maybe Dan just doesn't want coffee. After all, coffee's the cornerstone of their friendship. Those few times they've hung out outside of the shop have been mostly curse-related. Phil's just the only person Dan can talk to about that stuff, that's all.

Maybe he finally told Louise, or another one of his real friends. Maybe Phil didn't do anything at all. But even so, the longer it is that he hears nothing the more he can't help but worry.

When the lattes are done and the customer has paid and gone, PJ turns and fixes him with this look, all folded arms and intense eyebrows.

“Oh, don't,” Phil says, quietly.

“Don't what?” PJ asks. He looks at Phil for a moment, then he turns and rescues a cupcake from under one of the glass domes on the counter. Phil tries to refuse it, but PJ just keeps pushing it into his hands, so Phil ends up taking it to avoid a mess of crumbs.

“Thanks,” He says, eating a chocolate chip off the top.

“It's fine,” PJ says. “It'll come out of your wages. I'm _kidding_ ,” He adds, grinning when Phil nudges him.

They stand in silence for a moment, the two of them leaning against the sideboard, looking out across the shop.

“So,” PJ says, after a while. “Dan hasn't been in for a few days.”

“Peej-”

“You've been moping around since last week, ok, just let me _ask_ you about it.”

“It's not _moping_ ,” Phil says, scowling a little. “It's -” And then he stops, because he doesn't know how he's meant to tell PJ without bringing the whole curse thing into it. “Doesn't matter.”

“It obviously does, though,” PJ says. He's so obviously concerned that Phil can't help but feel guilty. “Come on. I won't tell anyone, if that's what you're worried about.”

“No, no, it's not that,” Phil says, in an attempt to soften the worried look on PJ's face. “It's – part of it's, like. It's Dan's thing to tell, you know, I don't wanna...” He trails off with a shrug.

“So you guys had an argument?” PJ guesses. “About something that's Dan's business?”

“No,” Phil says, wretchedly. “I-”

The door pings.

“Queue,” They say simultaneously, then end up grinning at each other.

“Later, ok?” Phil promises, before he moves forwards to set his cupcake down and serve the two people who are lingering by the counter.

-

“And then he just walked out,” Phil finishes, a little desperately. Halfway through his edited version of events, PJ had put his hand over his eyes and groaned, which hadn't exactly filled him with confidence, but he'd carried on anyway.

Now he's peering at Phil through his fingers.

“ _Phil_ ,” He says, after a moment, showing his face.

“What?” Phil says, completely nonplussed. PJ just shakes his head. “ _What_?”

“You told him he should date other people.”

“I – kind of, yeah.”

“Other people who aren't you?”

“I,” Phil feels his face growing hot. “Well, yeah.”

“ _Phil_.”

“Stop saying my name like that,” Phil says, grabbing hold of PJ's wrist before he can cover his face with his hands again. “It's – whatever you're thinking, you're wrong.”

“I'm _thinking_ that you told the guy who likes you that he should go out with other people."

Phil's quiet for a second, then he shakes his head.

“No.”

“Yeah!” PJ says. “Phil, come on, why else would he react like that?”

“Because,” Phil starts. “Because – I dunno, ok, that's what's been bothering me – PJ, it's _not_ that.”

“Have you got a better explanation?”

Which, no, Phil doesn't, but that doesn't mean – that _can't_ mean -

“Ha,” PJ says, softly. “See?”

“That's not it.”

“Well,” PJ says. “Unless you're missing out part of the story where you spat in his eye, that's the only explanation I can think of.”

Phil isn't so sure. Not that he says so – the last thing he needs is for him and PJ to have a half an hour long chat about his self esteem issues again. But honestly, the likelihood of Dan being _interested in him_ is too slim to even contemplate. Phil's just the guy behind the counter, the guy who makes the coffee.

Never mind their long conversations at work, or their more-recent text chats that keep Phil up 'til the early hours. Never mind the late night confessions and the way Dan smiles at him sometimes. That's pity, probably. A fluke.

Whatever it is, it's just best not to dwell on it. Dan's absence is probably completely unrelated to Phil, and PJ's theory is most likely just him being kind.

-

Or, Phil thinks, when Dan walks into the shop the next day, he's been absent for a completely different reason.

“I'll serve him,” PJ says, forcefully, because PJ's great – PJ notices everything, and PJ'd be hard pressed not to notice the blond guy Dan's chatting animatedly with – the blond guy who looks sharply dressed and handsome, who's making Dan smile and laugh.

Phil feels unpleasantly warm all over, and part of him knows he should stick around and serve Dan as though nothing's wrong, but he excuses himself with a muttered apology to go and fetch more brown sugar from the storeroom.

By the time he comes back (because the bags of coffee beans had needed straightening up, and he'd knocked over a jar of cinnamon sticks, and that had taken a few minutes to clean up), Dan and...whoever it is are sitting across at Dan's usual table, right under the beach print.

Phil ignores them. PJ doesn't.

“What a total queue,” He says, under his breath.

“Peej,” Phil says, quietly.

“ _Oh, can I have skimmed milk in my latte_? Ugh.”

“You always have skimmed milk,” Phil reminds him. “Peej, you don't have to – just because I -” He falters, not wanting to even say it. “I don't even care.”

“I know you don't,” PJ says, looking momentarily startled. “I just – are you ok? You're sure?”

“It's – whatever,” Phil says, as casually as he can. “Like, it's just another two people having coffee, right?”

PJ doesn't seem convinced, but he changes the subject until they get another trickle of customers fifteen minutes later. Phil ends up stuck plating biscotti and ignoring the painfully familiar sound of Dan's laugh across the shop.

It's stupid to be jealous. Laughable, even. Dan's allowed to go for coffee with whoever he wants, Phil knows that. It's just – it's just a surprise, that's all. He'd constantly reminded himself that he had no chance with Dan – that PJ's little hypothesis about their weird non-argument wasn't true – and yet he'd still been stupid enough to let himself _hope_.

He'd hoped that what PJ said was true – that Dan had thought Phil was rejecting him, somehow. He'd concocted scenarios where Dan came back to the shop just as they were about to close, where Dan confessed his feelings on Phil's doorstep.

In the end, it looks like he'd just got so caught up in the curse - the weird shows of affection that Dan's presence encourages - that he'd lost touch with reality. And now Dan's here with some attractive blond guy and – and that's it, it's just a stark reminder of how small of a chance Phil really had.

-

Dan and the blond guy end up sitting in the coffee shop for just over an hour. During that time, Phil can't help but notice that there's the usual rush of romantically happy customers – people are kissing at every other table. It's so strange and obvious that even PJ keeps shooting Phil these _can you believe this_ looks from across the counter.

 _Focus on yourself rather than other people_ , the note had said. Maybe Phil had misinterpreted it. Maybe it didn't mean going for coffee with random attractive blond guys at all. Then again, what does he know about curses? For all he knows this influx of happy couples means it's working. Maybe it has to get worse before it gets better, or something.

Phil's just giving the double cream in the fridge a cautious sniff when Dan ambles over to the counter, leaning there in his usual spot, watching him. Phil sees him out of the corner of his eye and makes a show of putting the cream back, worried about whatever conversation they're about to have.

“Hey,” Dan says, when Phil finally straightens up and acts like he only just saw him standing there.

“Oh, hi.”

“I, er.” Dan seems to hesitate for a moment, and Phil has no idea what to say. “So. I, um. Can we establish an emergency signal?”

“Sorry?”

“An emergency signal,” Dan repeats, in a low voice, leaning across the counter a little. “Like, if he starts getting weird or something.”

“Oh,” Phil says. He looks at Dan, and then glances over his shoulder at the blond guy, who's eyeing the pair of them curiously. “So, you guys are, like...?”

“Trying to break the curse,” Dan confirms. “I mean, it can't hurt, right?”

“Nope,” Phil says, with false nonchalance.

“But I just,” Dan sighs and his whole body slouches a little. Phil lets himself look, for all of half a second, at the flattering cut of the dark button-down shirt he's wearing, his earrings and how good his hair looks. “It's so _tiring_. Like. Ugh. I only brought him in here 'cause – 'cause I thought if I could see at least one, like, friendly face, I'd be less likely to do something stupid, you know?”

“How's that working out for you so far?” Phil asks, voice soft with helpless fondness. If that's what he is to Dan – one friendly face in a stressful situation – then he'll take it. Being _anything_ to Dan is far, far better than being nothing.

“Er, sort of ok?” Dan says, reaching up to straighten his fringe. Phil longs to reach over and do it for him – there's a stray lock of hair he keeps missing – but Dan's on a _date_. He clenches his hands into fists instead. “I. I mean, it's not, like, the most – I dunno. He seems like a nice guy.”

“That's good,” Phil says, and he's surprised to find that he means it. He wants Dan's date to go well. He wants him to be happy, no matter how much that happiness stings. “Really, like – maybe this'll work.”

“Fingers crossed,” Dan says. For a second his smile looks a little fixed, but it passes in the blink of an eye. “But – ok, if I drop a spoon on the floor that can be the signal, right?”

“The signal for me to do what?” Phil asks. “I dunno if I can come over and tell you your mum called, Dan.”

Dan snorts out a laugh.

“Oh my God. Can't you – can't you pretend there's been some urgent phone call? _Something_?”

“Fine,” Phil says, helpless to refuse Dan anything. “But – you should get back over there before this starts looking weird.”

“Nah, it's ok,” Dan says. “He thinks I'm asking if your red velvet cupcakes are vegetarian. We could be having a chat about, like, the persecution of animals, or something.”

Phil shakes his head and says, “Get back over there, you're stalling. And yeah, they're vegetarian.”

“Great,” Dan says, flashing Phil a smile before he walks back over to his table.

Phil watches him sit down, eyes drawn to his legs and arms and his shirt, which really suits him. He accidentally makes eye contact with Dan's date and nearly knocks over the cocoa powder shaker behind the counter in his haste to turn away and focus on absolutely _anything_ else.

-

“You know,” PJ says later, joining him where he's sat on the kitchen floor, hugging his knees. “Sitting down doesn't really make for a great sweeping technique.”

“Mm,” Phil says, vaguely. He feels embarrassed now that PJ's here, but he can't bring himself to move, staring down at the ugly blue colour of the floor without really seeing it.

PJ sighs and leans into him.

“You don't have to tell me what's up,” He says, cautiously. “But – I think if I start guessing you're gonna get mad, and then we'll end up having some weird fist fight, and – I'm just _guessing_ here, but I'm pretty sure I'd win, because I'm secretly kind of hench. And that'd be awkward. Like. An awkward trip to A &E.”

Phil stares at him, and then he laughs.

“Peej,” He says, rolling his eyes. “Oh my God.” He smiles for a moment longer, nudging his shoulder up against PJ's in a companionable way. Then he sighs, admitting quietly, “It's about Dan.”

“I kind of thought so,” PJ says, apologetically. “I saw you guys talking earlier.”

Phil nods.

“The – that was fine, like – he's dating people, that's great, like...I mean, I told him to, didn't I, so I shouldn't be surprised, I just -” The words threaten to get stuck in Phil's throat, and he swallows hard, staring down at his own hands instead of at PJ's understanding expression. “He likes guys. And. I kind of _thought_ he did. I-I mean I _hoped_ , but I wasn't sure, and now – now I guess I _am_ sure.” He shrugs, because he knows it's stupid – _he's_ being stupid – but knowing that isn't making him dwell on it any less.

PJ wriggles around awkwardly for a second, accidentally elbowing Phil in the shoulder before putting his arm around him.

“Ow,” Phil says, just to be awkward, even as he rests his head on PJ's shoulder.

“I'm not smooth,” PJ says, apologetically. “Look, Phil, that guy today, he was-”

“Blond,” Phil supplies, glumly. “Really fit. Probably does those terrifying things, you know where you crouch and then you jump up and, like, stretch, or whatever. It's an exercise thing,” He adds, when PJ makes a confused noise.

“He seemed really boring.”

“Peej, you spoke to him for like two seconds-”

“And he seemed really boring!” PJ insists. “I'm perceptive.”

“Sure,” Phil says, voice heavy with sarcasm. Then, after a second's pause, he adds, “How boring are we talking?”

“ _Really_ ,” PJ says, squeezing his shoulder a little. “And he was all, like, snooty-sounding, y'know? Like he was about to ask if we had any _quinoa_ , or something.”

“Oh my _God_ ,” Phil says, laughing. Then, quietly, he adds, “Thanks.”

PJ just squeezes his shoulder again and doesn't say anything.

-

The last thing Phil expects that evening is a knock on the door.

Well, maybe not the _last_ thing. PJ had offered to drive him home, but Phil insisted that he'd be fine on the bus. PJ's kindness is well-meaning and wonderful but there's something about his inadvertently pitying expression that makes Phil feel somehow more pathetic than he already did.

Earlier, PJ had driven him to the bus stop and given him this worried look before he drove away, so when there's a knock on the door halfway through Phil's self-pity fest (which included a huge bowl of pasta and a Friends marathon), he assumes it's just PJ, making sure he's alright.

Except when he trudges over to the door, tugging down the hem of his t-shirt as he goes, it's not PJ he sees through the peephole.

It's Dan.

Phil's heart slams into his ribcage like a bird into a window. He moves back from the door like it's burned him, and just stands for a moment, breathing too loudly in the quiet.

Dan knocks again, and Phil creeps forwards to look through the peephole again, just to make sure he's not mistaken. But it _is_ Dan, moving around in a strangely jittery way on the doorstep like he's had one too many cups of coffee. The glass makes his features bulbous and weird – his head looks like a lightbulb.

Wiping suddenly damp palms on his shirt, Phil smooths down his hair and unlocks the door.

“Oh, good, I thought you weren't in,” Dan says, stumbling a little on the spot. “I mean, hi. I mean – wow, your pyjamas are awesome.”

Phil's face burns hot at that – of course he _would_ be wearing his stupid Muppets pyjamas and an ugly old t-shirt with a hole in the armpit right now. That's just typical of his entire life. But more importantly-

“Are you drunk?”

“I,” Dan looks a little shamefaced at that. Or as shamefaced as he can right now. “I had, like, one drink.”

“Right,” Phil says. “You can come in and I'll ring you a taxi. If you want.”

“Good,” Dan says, traipsing into the flat when Phil stands to one side to let him in. “I mean, thanks, like. I shouldn’t drive.”

Phil doesn't even bother reminding him that he doesn't have a car. He just watches, almost in a daze, as Dan stumbles around the room – drunk enough to be unsteady but sober enough to navigate the furniture. The smell of his aftershave is strong enough that Phil can catch it from across the room – he must’ve bathed in it for his date.

His date.

Clearing his throat awkwardly, Phil says, “I’ll, um. You should sit down, and I’ll make you a coffee.”

Dan doesn’t look up from where he’s half-examining, half-leaning on Phil’s shelf of DVDs.

“M’ok,” He says, indistinctly, hand slipping a little. At that, Phil makes himself move, crossing the room and encouraging Dan to sit on the sofa, every movement magnified tenfold by self-consciousness.

Once Dan's safely settled, blinking inanely at everything, Phil escapes to the kitchen. He stands for a moment after he flicks the kettle on, wringing his hands almost unconsciously, like that’ll somehow remove the memory of how _warm_ Dan is.

When he slips back into the living room with the coffee, Dan’s half-sprawled on the sofa. Phil’s reminded irresistibly of the first time he came here – the glint of his eyes in the low light, his smile and the heat of him next to Phil, reaching over and around him almost unconsciously, completely unaware of Phil freezing in place every time he came close.

“I'm ok, I don't need coffee,” Dan insists, when Phil offers him the cup.

“It'll help you sober up.”

“Actually,” Dan says, raising a finger like a cartoon scientist with an idea. “That's a fallacy. They, like, proved it. Coffee s'just, like, keeps you awake.”

Phil just sets the cup down on the coffee table and doesn't say anything.

“You're mad at me,” Dan offers, after a moment's silence.

“I'm – no,” Phil says, feeling caught out. It's hard to look at Dan right now, all strangely fluid movements and slow-blinking eyes. “I'll go and – I should ring you a taxi.”

“Wait, wait,” Dan says, sitting up very suddenly. “Oh – oh, that – oh no-”

Phil moves forwards quickly, grabbing his shoulder.

“Are you gonna – oh God, d'you want me to get you some water?”

Dan looks at him for a moment, his eyes dark and penetrating in the dim light. When he looks down for a second, his eyelashes are so long that Phil has to gulp down a breath of air and let him go.

Just for something to do with his hands, he hands Dan the coffee again.

“It’s instant,” Dan says after his first sip, pulling a face.

“Yeah, well,” Phil says, awkwardly. “You want the good stuff you'll have to come to me during work hours.”

“Ouch,” Dan says, the coffee on his lips glinting weirdly in the lamplight. “You're – you are so mad at me.” He takes another sip, slurping a little. “This is _cold_. That's – I'm not being rude, don't hate me, I – it is cold, though.” Another sip. “Maybe your kettle's broken.”

“My kettle's not broken, I just put extra milk in it,” Phil explains. “In case you spilt it on yourself.”

Dan looks up at him again, expression unusually solemn. For a moment it’s only how red in the face he is that gives him away for being drunk – that and the way he’s looking at Phil, like he’s drinking him in with his eyes, or something.

Phil squirms a little. Deciding that one of them has to tackle the elephant in the room, he says, “How did your date go?”

Dan blinks slowly for a second, like he didn’t understand the question, and drinks some coffee. For a moment Phil thinks he just won’t answer.

“Shit,” He says. “Why aren’t you sitting down? You can’t –“ He snorts, laughing a little. “You can’t catch drunk just by sitting next –“ He hiccups. “Next to me.”

“I know,” Phil says, and doesn’t sit down. “Why was it shit?”

“Couples everywhere,” Dan says, shaking his head. “And – and I felt gross the entire time, like – like, _ugly_ , you know? And – I just – it was a stupid idea, I dunno.”

“It was worth a try,” Phil says, pushing down the awful part of him that feels savagely _glad_ that the date didn’t go well.

Dan takes a noisy glug of coffee, and Phil tries not to notice how the sleeves of the shirt he’s wearing are kind of sheer, and the hints of skin visible through the material make Phil feel weird – tongue tied and hot, even though it’s just Dan’s _arms_ , for God’s sake.

“Yeah,” Dan says, setting down the empty mug on the coffee table. “Yeah, you were the one who was like – _this dating thing_ , like, _wow, try that_.”

Flushing, Phil says, “I – I thought it was worth a try. I still – the card seemed pretty clear, so I just thought-”

“Yeah, the mysterious _card_ ,” Dan says, alcohol making him sound weirdly sibilant, like he's trying to speak Parseltongue. “I – I – you know, there are easier ways of being like, _I'm not interested_. I'm just – I'm just saying, like, I'm not some creeper who – I'm not gonna be like, _oh, I feel so friendzoned right now_.”

“Sorry, what?” Phil says, befuddled.

“You could've just told me you're not interested,” Dan repeats, with the air of someone who's having to think really hard about the pronunciation of each word. “I don't mind. I mean, like, I _do_ mind but I'm not gonna be gross about it.”

“I,” Phil's mouth is dry and he doesn't know what to say. “You're – you're drunk.”

“No shit,” Dan says, and then laughs at himself.

-

Phil ends up letting Dan stay over instead of ringing him a taxi. It seems like a good idea at the time – at least he won't spend the night worrying that Dan fell off a curb and twisted his ankle or got mugged on his way to his front door, but then there's the problem of Dan sleeping in his bed.

“You don't have to sleep on the sofa,” Dan says, watching him make the bed from the doorway.

“I really do,” Phil says, tucking the edges of the sheet under his mattress. If his mum taught him anything about situations like this it's that clean bedsheets are a common courtesy. Not that (painfully attractive) drunk people show up on his doorstep often. Or, in fact, ever. “There.” He drags the duvet back onto the bed and tries to do the arm-waving thing to get it to lie flat. It nearly works. “I mean – there was nothing wrong with the other sheets, I just-”

“You don't have to sleep on the sofa,” Dan says again, suddenly much closer than he had been.

Drunk people shouldn't be allowed stealth, Phil thinks, wildly, when he sees the look Dan's giving him.

“I'm sleeping on the sofa,” He says, firmly. “And you're sleeping in here. You're _drunk_ , Dan.”

Dan reaches out to touch his shoulder. Just his shoulder, stroking his fingers back and forth a little against the worn material of Phil's old t-shirt.

“You don't believe me,” He says, quietly. “About – about how – I _really_ fucking like you.”

Phil's stomach swoops and he feels like he might throw up or laugh, or both.

“We can talk about this when you're not drunk, ok?” He says, voice a little hoarse. Dan's eyes keep flickering between Phil's eyes and his mouth, and it's making it hard to breathe normally. “But I'm definitely sleeping on the sofa.”

“Ok,” Dan says, softly, fingers still stroking. He frowns. “Do you hate me?”

Phil laughs a little at that, part hysteria and part fondness.

“'Course I don't,” He says, shucking Dan's hand off him. “Just get some sleep, ok?”

-

The next morning, Phil gets woken up by a combination of a slice of sunlight through his living room blinds cutting right across his face and the thud of a mug being set down on the coffee table.

He lies there for a moment, legs twisted up in blankets, and listens to the noises of Dan moving around the room. He listens to the way he swears under his breath, the funny, sniffling, unselfconscious noises people make in the early hours of the morning.

The armchair springs creak nearby, and Phil reaches out for his glasses. There's an awkward moment when he nearly spills his coffee everywhere, but he manages to avoid disaster.

Which is a shame, he thinks, heavily, as he sits up. A disaster would be really handy round about now. Anything to avoid Dan's hasty backtrack, Dan's inevitable _I don't remember anything about last night_. Anything to avoid this whole thing.

“I made you a coffee,” Dan says. He's sitting with his knees up on the armchair, hand at his mouth like he's biting his nails. “That's like. The first time I've done that. The tables have turned.”

Phil takes a sip. It's not bad.

“Thanks.”

Dan just waves his hand. He looks odd and pale, eyes a little wide, something indefinable about his face that mirrors the way Phil's face looks when he first wakes up.

Early mornings look much better on Dan, he thinks.

“We should,” Dan says, interrupting his train of thought. “We should have, like, a talk. About – look, I'm really sorry about all this. I'm sorry you had to sleep on the sofa and I'm sorry I – I showed up here, and...” He flushes, looking down at his hands. “I'm sorry for all the stuff I said. And I'm sorry for being creepy. And – ugh.” He sighs. “I'll go soon, like – I just wanted to tell you. To your face, you know? There's a bus in, like, ten minutes, so I -”

“You don't have to be sorry,” Phil says. His heart's thudding painfully fast – he feels the same way he used to as a kid, when he'd stand on his head against the garden wall and then flop down onto the grass, the sky whirling above him and his brain feeling rattled and strange. “I.” He swallows, feeling suddenly terrified, his palms sweating. “I, erm. Did you mean it?”

For a moment, Phil thinks Dan'll act clueless. But he just nods, looking up uncertainly to catch Phil's eye.

“I meant to tell you last week,” He admits, quietly. “I was gonna tell you. I, like. I spent ages figuring out what to say, and – and I practiced it a little bit, I dunno, and then – then you said that stuff about dating other people and I just...”

“I didn't mean it,” Phil says, feeling like there's something stuck in his throat. His face is hot and there are goosebumps prickling on his arms. “I – I don't want you to go on dates with other people. Like, ever. I only said that 'cause – I was too scared to - to tell you that I like you.”

Dan stares at him.

“You – what?”

“I like you,” Phil says. Saying it once makes his throat feel less like it's about to close up, so he says it again. “I – I really like you. I have for ages.”

“But last night-”

“You were _drunk_ ,” Phil says. “And I thought you didn't mean it, I thought we were gonna have some awful conversation this morning about how great your date was yesterday.”

Dan lets out a surprised laugh.

“Oh God,” He says. “It was a _nightmare_ , Phil, he was, like...He was really serious, and whenever I made a joke he just looked at me like I'd grown an extra head, and God he was so _boring_ , and – seriously, though, you like _me_?”

Dan's smile is ridiculous, blinding and bright, and Phil kind of wants to kiss his dimples. He's kind of wanted to for a long time, really, but now (he thinks, with a weird swoop of happiness) he probably could, if he asked.

“I really, really do,” Phil says.

-

That evening, they end up taking another trip to the cinema, and Phil doesn't see a single kissing couple.

Although that could be because he's entirely too busy kissing Dan to notice them.


End file.
